Snapshots All Grown Up
by morning sunlight
Summary: This story follows my pre-series story 'Snapshots'. set in early season 2 of Spn with some references to the events at the end of Season 1 and early Season 2 Eliot helps Dean cope with difficult events.
1. Everything's Falling Apart Part one

**Story notes:**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story follows my pre-series story 'Staying at Pastor Jim's'. Although the two stories are independent of each other, they share both characters and setting and the friendships here are adult versions of those first formed in childhood. This story is set in early Season 2 so it does reference events at the end of Season 1 and beginning of Season 2 (if you get my drift for spoilers and what happens to certain characters - this sticks by canon in that respect!)

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**Prompt 15 – Stars**

**Everything's Falling Apart (part one)**

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Dean knew it was too late, days and weeks and months too late, didn't know if there wasn't someone else in the house already. Not like he could come straight out and ask Bobby . . . not without admitting where he was going . . . why . . .

He drove through the town, looking at the long-familiar buildings, contemplating how little had changed and how much. He stopped at the lights, wondering if he'd known then what he knew now would he have done anything differently. It was years down the line and his life was still a freaking mess, worse now than ever with Pastor Jim gone, Caleb and now Dad.

Dean sighed and pulled away, crossing the intersection and heading out of the center.

* * *

It was the sound that had him looking up. It couldn't be . . . not after all these years . . . there would be no reason now . . .

Eliot had stayed in touch with the Thompsons throughout his life, the gaps had been unpredictable but the one thing he always held onto was the fact that Ava would always accept him, always want to see him, whatever state he arrived in.

He'd contacted them when he was returning from his time overseas in the military. They'd been there, driven for miles to be there, his family still despite everything. Ava . . . he tried so hard never to bring it here with him, to leave all the shit behind him, but she knew, she could always see it in his eyes, in his body, even when he waited for the bruises to fade and the injuries to heal before visiting. He came here for the knowledge that somebody cared for him, somebody wanted just him, not the things he could do, the things he could retrieve or the people he could beat to a bloody pulp.

She'd sent him a message when Pastor Jim had died and he'd just about made it home for the funeral, surprised when Dean and Sam weren't there. He'd seen Jordan, seen the tired bags around his eyes, a man at the end of his hope. He'd asked after the Winchesters and received a shrug, further pushing and Eliot had extracted enough information to realize that things had been bad for them for a while and that at that time Jordan had no idea where they were. It was a worry, they both knew that Dean would want to be here, would want to say goodbye.

He hadn't stayed for long. There had been 'things' going on, 'things' he couldn't ignore for long, but that was dealt with now and so he had come back to see Ava, to spend some time with her and Phil, to let them know that he really was okay.

So the last thing he'd expected was the rumble of an Impala past him in the street. His head had snapped round in its direction, stunned to see a solitary figure in the driver's seat, reminiscent of the man Dean had been the last time he'd seen him. It was an Impala in a far worse state of repair than Eliot had ever seen it before but still running. He watched as it turned through the intersection and out towards the Pastor's old house.

He knew from Ava that the house was still empty, the Pastor's 'brother' had emptied his belongings from it but that the Pastor's replacement at the church had decided he preferred to live closer to the town centre. As far as Eliot knew the church had the house still on the market waiting for a buyer.

He looked down at his watch, realized he was supposed to be meeting Ava in a few minutes and so headed off quickly.

* * *

Ava hadn't minded when he'd ducked out of eating with her. Well, she hadn't minded when he'd told her why and instead had packed him off telling him to hurry and to bring the 'poor boy' back to her home. It was dusk when he got to the Pastor's old house, the first stars just visible in the sky. There in front of the house sat the Impala and on the porch was Dean.

The younger man looked up and with tears in his eyes, he said, "Everything's gone to shit, Eliot."


	2. Everything's Falling Apart Part two

**Prompt 14 : Memory**

**Everything's Falling Apart (Part Two)**

* * *

Eliot moved closer, dropping on to the step beside Dean. "Tell me about it," he said quietly. It was years since he and Dean had sat together down by the lake and shared their hopes, dreams and troubles. They'd grown up since then, a world of experience and machismo coming into play in the men they had become but somehow at this moment, putting it all aside felt like the right thing to do.

Dean looked regretfully over his shoulder at the Pastor's house, "He – he shouldn't have gone like that."

Eliot agreed with him softly. The Pastor had been a good man, and Eliot knew well there were few people in the world who deserved the violent end he'd suffered. "I couldn't come then . . . I couldn't come," Dean continued.

Eliot lifted a hand to his friend's shoulder and squeezed it in support, saying, "Dean, if anyone would have understood why you couldn't be here and understood that you did want to be here, it was the Pastor."

"Everything's a mess," Dean said quietly.

"So tell me about it, let me help," Eliot said plainly. "We're still friends, Dean."

"You – you don't want to be my friend. It's all so fucked up . . ." Dean shifted on the step and Eliot saw as he grimaced, clearly in pain.

"Dean, are you hurt? We could go see Ava, she could check you over." Eliot wasn't surprised when Dean shook his head, claiming to be fine. "Tell me then . . . reassure me that you're not badly hurt."

Dean held out his hands, showing Eliot the scuffs and cuts from his own attack on the Impala. "So what did you do?"

Dean waved a hand in the direction of the car. "She looks in pretty bad shape, what happened to her?" Eliot asked.

Dean snorted derisively. It was odd how Sam had never really understood his attachment to the car, had plagued him about it for years but in hindsight he didn't know that Eliot understood it, but he had always accepted it in a way his own brother never had. "We got hit by a semi . . ." Dean's voice was quiet, "I'm never letting Sam drive again."

"I got you on that one, dude," Eliot agreed, suspecting there was more that Dean wasn't saying.

Dean shook his head, "Wasn't really his fault . . . He was trying to get me to the hospital. Funny that . . . it worked! Fucking airlifted, I hate flying and they fucking flew me to the hospital." Eliot's eyes widened in surprise. "Never been so glad to be unconscious as when I found out."

Eliot smiled, imagining his friend's reaction after the event. "So what are you doing out here on your own? Where's Sammy? Didn't realize he was back with you? He finished school and everything?"

Dean seemed to crumple against the railings. He rubbed a hand wearily over his face, looking away into the surrounding trees before answering, "No, he . . . he left, came with me . . . Dad's dead."

The seemingly off-hand finishing remark caught Eliot so much by surprise that he almost missed it. "Shit . . .Dean I'm sorry . . . You . . . Fuck! When? How?"

"I dunno, I'm not counting . . ." Dean fell silent and Eliot waited. "It's been 35 days," he finally admitted. "He died saving me."

"Dean, I'm sorry, but you know he'd have wanted that . . . you to survive I mean. I know it sucks now, I know it hurts and I'm not going to promise you that it'll stop hurting, only that it won't be so bad. Does Sammy know this is where you are?" Dean shook his head. Eliot could see the bone-deep exhaustion, the fine edge he was walking. "Come with me, back to Ava's. She won't mind, dude. Get some sleep, recoup, give Sam a call and . . ."

"No." The word was quiet but final.

"Dean?" Eliot urged him to give a proper answer.

"I should go . . . I shouldn't be here and I – I can't go and see Ava . . . tell her I said hi though."

"Dean, I'm not going to let you hit the road in this state. If you won't go to Ava's, then we're getting a room in the motel in town and you're getting some sleep there. I am not letting you back behind the wheel of that car without some sleep. Now get up and get in the passenger seat before I put you there myself."

Dean nodded, his hand digging in his pocket for the keys and handing them over, before resignedly pushing himself up and walking over to the passenger side of the car and struggling with it for a moment before getting it open with an almighty shriek of metal. He looked at Eliot, shrugged and said quietly, "I'll fix it up eventually."

Eliot moved to the driver's side and as he opened the door and got in, he said, "It looks like you've started already, dude, if she's gone ten rounds with a semi."

"I was doing well and then . . ."

"Dean? Then what?" Eliot looked across at his friend seeing the way he was biting his lip as if to hold inside all the stuff that wanted out. "Okay, look we'll go get a room and you _will_ get some sleep."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Eliot had checked them into a twin room in the motel and Dean was already flaked out in bed sleeping soundly. Eliot reached across to the chair on which Dean had left his jeans and fished in the pocket for Dean's phone. He then stepped quietly outside the room, pulling the door closed behind him, although he didn't think anything would wake Dean from his current exhausted slumber.

He used his own phone first to call Ava, explaining quickly that he was spending the night with Dean at the motel and that Dean wouldn't come to visit her although he said hi. She asked if he was okay, and on hearing Eliot's sigh, she had all the answer she needed. "Eliot, if you need me to come to you, just call, if there's anything I can do, just ask."

"Ava, thanks. Right now, he's grieving and yeah . . . it's Dean . . . He hasn't changed that much since we were kids." He was grateful for Ava's reassurances, warmed by her support, wished he could have persuaded Dean to see Ava, wished Dean could have felt her care for himself.

The next call he made on Dean's phone. It wasn't that surprising when Sam's opening comment was "Dean? Where the fuck are you? What are you playing at, dude?"

"Sam, it's not Dean. It's Eliot, but he's here with me and he's safe. We're in Blue Earth."

"Fuck! God! He's an idiot! Is he in the Impala?"

"Yeah, he is . . . was. We're at the motel, he's sleeping now," Eliot clarified. "He was tired."

"Tired! Are you kidding? He has barely slept in weeks, he's not eating. For Fuck's sake, he's trying to kill himself!"

"I was sorry to hear about your Dad. . ." Eliot said only to hear Sam let out a deep sigh. He could hear the same weariness in Sam's voice as in Dean's, the same hopelessness. "I know it's hard right now. Sam, I'm looking out for him. I don't know if that makes it any better, but I can do that while he's here. I'm gonna put your number in my phone, not sure I'll get another hold of his after this. Where are you?"

"I'm at Bobby's. It's . . . it's not that far . . . I dunno exactly, ten maybe twelve hours from Blue Earth, it's in North Dakota. You want me to come to you, come and get him?"

"Give me tonight, Sam. I'll call you tomorrow. I think . . . I think he just needed to come see the Pastor maybe. I'll take him to the cemetery tomorrow and see how he is then or maybe the church."

"Not . . . not the church, Eliot. Don't take him to the church. It's where Jim died, where he was murdered, that'll hurt him too much. I dunno if . . . is there someone at the house? Maybe he could go there . . . or the woods . . . the pond?"

"Sam, I'll do that . . . in the morning, okay? I'll call you tomorrow, let you know whether to come up here or whether he'll be coming back to you. Take care, Sammy." Eliot closed the connection and let himself back into the room. He set Dean's phone down beside the bed and went to get himself ready to sleep. Tomorrow would be early enough to try to deal.


	3. Expect The Unexpected Part One

**Prompt 23: Sound**

**Expect the Unexpected**

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When Dean woke up, he was surprised to see light creeping in through the curtains. It just figured that it would be his luck that he'd come all this way only for the exhaustion to finally catch up with him. He knew he was wearing down, knew it had only been a matter of time. Strange how being away from Sam seemed to finally make it okay to give in, didn't make sense at all. He rolled over and started to push himself up, only to hear the motel room door open. "Well hello there! I was wondering when you'd finally emerge," Eliot teased, taking in the still drawn and too pale features of his friend.

"Mornin'" Dean mumbled. "Goin' bathroom." Eliot watched as he stumbled away in the direction of the bathroom, picking up fresh clothes and shaving kit on the way.

Eliot set one of the coffee cups he'd been carrying down by Dean's bed, flicked the TV on and settled in to wait. It didn't take long for Dean to reappear looking a world more awake, if not actually any healthier or in a better state of mind. It would take more than one night's sleep to get rid of the bags below his eyes and Eliot was tempted to think that he probably hadn't been eating properly either, given the pallid complexion. "Coffee there for ya, dude," he said as Dean emerged from the steam filled bathroom.

Dean muttered his thanks, picking it up and taking a long swig before turning back to look at his friend. He frowned for a moment, then said, "Dude . . ." Eliot raised his eyebrows in question wondering what Dean had been about to say. "You . . . You've changed."

"Well it's been a couple of years since I last saw ya, Dean. Hair's a bit longer I guess, didn't think I'd changed that much," Eliot answered simply.

Dean frowned again, then said, "No, not that, not since then, since yesterday! You've changed since I went to sleep. Didn't you say you were staying with Ava? But then I thought you stayed here . . ."

"Oh, clothes you mean . . . yeah, well, Ava and Stan moved a few years back. They live just a few doors down from here now so I popped in to see her while you were still snoring this morning. They got the chance of a smaller place that they liked and figured they'd move while they were still young and fit enough to decorate and fix it up how they wanted it to be. Talking of Ava though, breakfast's on the table in . . ." he paused while he looked at his watch, "twenty minutes so you need to make a decision. We checking in for another night here or you heading back to Sam?"

Dean shrugged, the aura of defeat surrounding him clear to Eliot. "Dean . . . Listen, let's get the room for another night. We'll go see Ava and Stan for some breakfast and then maybe head back out to the Pastor's house for a bit. We could go into the woods or down to the pond or something." Dean nodded and began to tidy his few things up, patting down pockets and lifting papers and bags as if looking for something. "Looking for these?" Eliot asked, holding out the keys for the Impala. Dean frowned as if not sure what they were doing in Eliot's pocket.

"I drove last night, remember?" Eliot said, the memory finally dawning on Dean as he nodded and reached for them himself. Eliot figured it was better not to mention the fact that he'd taken them again this morning in case Dean woke up while he was out so he couldn't make an escape. "Come on, let's get some breakfast in ya and then we can figure out what to do next."

* * *

Breakfast had been quiet, Dean had eaten although not as much as Ava had tried to give him. He had stood calmly, at first detached, as she had held him close, murmuring reassurances to him until he seemed to gradually relax. Eliot and Stan had made themselves scarce leaving Ava to work her magic on the grieving young man alone. When Dean finally joined the other two men, he looked better than he had.

"I called the realtor who has the keys to the Pastor's house. If we want we can pick them up and go out to the house for a bit," Eliot said. Dean nodded and picked up his jacket so he was ready to go, saying his goodbyes to Ava and Stan and promising to stop by the next time he was passing through with Sam.

* * *

Dean parked up in the Pastor's driveway and walked with Eliot up to the house, suddenly asking "Why did they give you the keys? Why aren't they here with us?", the strangeness of it having finally occurred to him.

Eliot smiled before explaining, "Stan's niece is the office manager. He worked his charm on her for me." He slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open. They walked inside together. The house still had most of its furniture and some books remained on the shelf. Dean looked round recognizing that most of what was left was probably the church's. He wondered which of the hunters had come to clear the property, whether it was even someone he knew. Now he was just left with an eerie sense of silence pervading the house as he moved from room to room.

He led the way upstairs, moving from one room to another, Eliot following him. Reaching the room that he and Sam had shared as children, often with Jordan there as well, Dean moved deeper into the room, settling on the bed nearest the window and looking out over the surrounding land, taking in the woods they'd trained in as kids and the pond he and Eliot used to hang out by.

Eliot watched from the door for a few moments before stepping away to give Dean some privacy. He continued down, opening the next door and looking in and then the final door at the end of the hallway. Looking in, he decided, it must have been the Pastor's own room. He moved round quietly, like Dean drawn to look out of the window, until he heard a sound behind him, "Eliot. I'm glad you came. He needed to come here, needed someone with him. You always were a good boy, a good friend to Dean."

Eliot's eyes widened at the sight before him, jaw falling open in horror. "Dean!" he gasped, barely any volume to his voice. "Dean!" he tried again, louder. "Dean!" he yelled, not believing what he was seeing.


	4. Expect The Unexpected Part Two

**Prompt 30 : Breath**

**Expect the Unexpected (Part Two)**

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Dean's head snapped up at the sound of Eliot calling his name. His breath caught as he recognized the hint of fear in his voice. What the hell could be the matter? What could Eliot be frightened of?

Dean was on his feet and running instantly, heading into what had been the Pastor's bedroom, barreling through the door only to stumble to a halt at the sight before him. His mouth dropped open in shock. "Christo!" he muttered.

"No Dean," the figure said, "that won't work. I know what I am, _who_ I am and I have a reason for being here. I needed to talk to you. I held on here, waiting, praying that I could have this chance, praying that if you did come, you would listen to me." Dean didn't move, just continued to stare in horror. "Did you bring Sammy with you?"

Dean shook his head, still not able to form a sentence through the whirlwind in his head. The figure looked sad, "That's a shame, but it doesn't matter. You'll be there for him, I know." The figure stepped closer to Dean, ignoring Eliot's protest. "Dean, your father has placed a great burden on your shoulders . . . I always hoped that I would be here to support you, to share that burden, but it wasn't to be. I'm sorry for that."

"You . . . you shouldn't be here," Dean's voice was hoarse with emotion. "You . . . Why? I – I can fix it, you can move on!"

The Pastor smiled, affection clear in his eyes, "Thank you, Dean, but first we need to talk." He looked across at Eliot for a moment, saying, "Eliot, would you mind waiting downstairs . . . or even in Dean's old room? I need to talk to him. I promise I won't hurt him."

Eliot didn't move until Dean nodded giving him the permission he needed to leave the room, still afraid. He headed downstairs quietly, trying to remember the things that Sam and Dean had taught him years ago . . . Ghosts . . . salt . . . iron . . . If he was in luck there'd be a poker near the fireplace and he could check the kitchen cupboards for salt . . . it wasn't likely but he could try, he could at least try.

* * *

Jim Murphy gestured towards the window seat relieved when Dean moved across and sat down. It was strange, Dean was twenty-eight now, but Jim could still the frightened and overwhelmed little boy he'd been when they first met. "I know what your father told you; I know he told you not to tell your brother."

Dean nodded, then asked, "So it's true, about Sam, the demon . . . What does it mean? Sammy's . . . Sammy's not evil. I'm right, aren't I?"

Jim wished he could reach out and properly touch the young man before him, rest a hand on his neck, calm and settle him as he'd done when Dean was a child. "It's true about the demon and why he was there, what he'd come for . . . Dean . . . Sam is . . . Sam is Sam, I believe." He held up a hand to stave off Dean's interruption. "Sam will have choices, with luck he will accept his brother's advice, help in making those decisions and between you, things will be fine. Remember you have Bobby always. He loves you both as his own sons. Dean, _you_ need never be alone. You have Sam and you have Bobby. You have Jordan and Eliot. Reach out when you need them, Dean; put your trust in them to be there for you."

Jim saw the tears filling the young man's eyes, wondered how much longer he had before Eliot returned to try and give Dean the strength for the battles ahead. "Dean, your Dad, Caleb, myself, none of us would have had things be different; have you here instead of us. Your Dad's death was not your fault. It was his choice. You are worth it, we need you to believe that, Dean, believe in yourself."

Dean shook his head, the tears now running non-stop down his face. "Dad . . . Dad was the best. I – I'll never be good enough."

"You already are good enough, Dean. You always have been. Your Dad was a good man, a great hunter, but you are all that and more, Dean, because you have never forgotten that family has to come first, even when you're out there hunting. You just need to talk with your brother and trust in your friends, _you_ are important in all of this, Dean. You are strong enough for this, Dean. Go to Bobby, he'll understand." The Pastor paused for a moment, his gaze resting on the troubled young man before him. "I'll need to be going. . . I'll need your help. Will you do that for me, Dean? Help me move on."

"I – You can't go, you can't. I – I still need you here," Dean murmured.

"I'm sorry, Dean, you know it can't be that way. I wish things could be different, but we both know how this has to go now."

Dean shook his head, refusing to acknowledge the truth. "Dean . . ." Dean drew himself up, visibly pulling himself back together and hiding his pain inside. When he finally looked up at the Pastor, he nodded. The Pastor's ghost smiled, then turned his head to take in Eliot's form at the door. "Thank you, Eliot. You'll help Dean, please? He knows what has to be done."

Eliot came into the room coming to stand alongside Dean, as he answered, "I'll always help." The Pastor smiled and Eliot felt the pull of loss inside, wondering how Dean could still be standing when his loss was far worse.

"You were always a good boy, Eliot, the best kind of friend for my boys. You have always made Ava and Stan so proud, just like Dean has always made me." His ghostly hand reached out as if to tousle Dean's hair, but he drew it back before getting close. "I'll go now." He looked back at Dean as he said quietly, "Tonight Dean, please. Don't put it off, don't dwell and make it harder. You know this is what I want. I've had everything, even the chance to talk to you again. I'm sorry."

Dean nodded and with a last lingering look of desolation, he turned and left the room. Eliot paused standing alongside the Pastor's ghost as Dean's heavy footsteps could be heard going downstairs. "I wish things could have been different. He's never deserved the burden he's been made to carry," the Pastor's ghost said softly.

Eliot looked at the Pastor for one last time, before following Dean downstairs and out of the house for the last time.


	5. I've Got Stuff To Do Tonight

_**Author's Note : **__M apologies for the terrible delay in getting the last few chapters of this story posted. Life! Bleurgh! Not so much life, more Work! Double Bleurgh! So again apologies and here we go with the last three chapters._

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_**Prompt 21 - Air**_

_**I've Got Stuff to Do Tonight**_

When Eliot turned from locking up the house, he saw that Dean was already in the passenger seat of the car. He sighed and went over to join him in the car. He sat down and closed the door but before he turned the ignition, he looked across at Dean and said, "I'm sorry, Dean." Dean just shrugged and looked out of the window.

Eliot started up the car and drove back to the motel without another word. He parked up and Dean was out of the car and heading for the motel room immediately. By the time he had crossed the parking lot and entered the room, Dean had shrugged off his jacket and was sat on the edge of the bed tugging at his boots. "Dean?"

"I'm gonna get some rest. I've got stuff to do tonight."

"We . . . Dean . . . We have 'stuff' to do tonight. You don't have to do this alone and if you want we could call Sam, he'd help too." Dean shook his head determinedly before standing up long enough to strip down to a t-shirt and boxers at which point he laid down on the bed, pulled the covers over himself and turned to face away from Eliot.

Eliot waited a while to see if Dean was going to say anything, then said, "I'll be back in a bit. I should go see Ava, but I won't be long. You rest. I'll see you..."

Dean cut him off shortly, "Just go, Eliot. Quit talking at me!" Eliot sighed and opened the door , stepping outside, not regretting the fact that he hadn't put the Impala key down and praying that Dean wouldn't decide just to hotwire his own car. He wouldn't be gone long anyway.

* * *

When the door finally closed behind Eliot, Dean let out the breath he'd been holding and tried to relax, tried to rest. Twenty minutes later, he sat up already reaching for his clothes and giving up on the idea of unaided sleep. As he pulled on his boots he was already looking round at the table and the dresser to see where Eliot had left the keys. He let out a frustrated growl when he realized they were nowhere in sight. Grabbing his door key, he walked out slamming the door behind him and heading toward the neighboring liqor store.

* * *

Eliot let himself back into the room quietly, hoping that Dean would be asleep, instead he was greeted by the sight of his friend slumped on his bed fully dressed with the TV blaring and a bottle of Jack Daniels grasped in one hand as he took another swig from it.

Swallowing his mouthful, Dean looked at Eliot and said, "So you're back. Hand over the fucking keys to my car, asshole!"

"No. You'll get them back when you're not going to wrap it round a tree."

"Fuck you!" Dean lifted the bottle again, starting to swig. Eliot strode across the room, snatching the bottle away, leaving Dean coughing and cursing as he retreated from arm's reach.

"Don't!" he snapped. "Don't be so disrespectful! You think this is what the Pastor would want from you?" The only response was a guttural half laugh half snarl before Dean shook his head and looked away. "What? You're not in this on your own. I'm here and you know I'm sorry I went to see Ava if you needed me to stay, but hell, Dean. . ."

Dean pushed himself up off the bed, striding across towards his friend, not stopping until he was right up in Eliot's face. "You sure about that, Eliot? You absolutely sure about that? 'Cause see I don't think you've really thought this through!" he snarled.

Eliot pushed him back a pace then set the bottle down on the table and moved forward, giving Dean another push back towards the bed, keeping a tight rein on his own temper and ignoring the curses and obscenities from Dean. "Sit down!"

Dean sat, glaring but now silent. It only lasted for a moment or two before his eyes dropped away and Eliot was again struck by the hurt he could see in his friend's eyes. Eliot sat down on his own bed, feet firmly planted on the floor directly in front of Dean. "Tell me," he said simply.

Dean laughed again, a short bark of disdain. "Get your own bottle, Spencer!"

"Am I going to need it?" Eliot asked plainly.

Dean sighed, defeated. He ran a hand over his face and nodded. Eliot prompted him to explain and finally with another sigh, he murmured, "I can . . . you . . . you don't have to come with me tonight." Eliot pushed for further explanation, even as he insisted that he would come no matter what. Finally Dean began to speak, "You really want to be there when I dig the Pastor's grave up? Open up the coffin? Rotting body, Eliot, that's what it's going to be . . . a disgusting rotting corpse."

Eliot gasped as the reality of what was going to happen became fully clear to him and he shuddered.


	6. Gravedigging

Prompt 24 – Dirt

**Grave - digging**

Eliot had taken a few good swigs of the Jack Daniels before recapping the bottle and turning back to Dean, "I'm sorry. I guess . . . I guess I hadn't really thought . . ."

"Yeah, well. . . I guess I wish I didn't have to either," Dean admitted softly. "You want out now?"

"No," Eliot said, voice just as quiet as Dean's. "I mean, sure, I don't _want _to be doing this, but it has to be done, right? In that case, I am not leaving you to do this on your own, no matter what."

Dean nodded and sighed. "Wear old clothes . . . shit that we can just . . . just burn when we're done," he looked away as he finished speaking, tears glistening in his eyes. "And . . . and maybe you want to say goodbye to Ava, leave now . . . We should check out so . . . If we've left, they won't be looking for us in connection with the grave desecration, that way you . . . you can come back and visit later and no one will . . ." Dean choked on the final words and Eliot shifted from his own bed to Dean's side.

"God! Dean, I'm sorry. . . I'm sorry we have to do this, I'm sorry I can't fix this."

Dean just shook his head and pulled away, saying, "I need to get everything ready, need to find out where . . . where . . ."

"Dean . . . I know where the grave is. Let's take it all one step at a time like you said. We'll pack up here and check out, go say goodbye to Ava and I'll get the rest of my stuff from there. I'll tell her I'm going with you for a few days and . . . she'll understand."

* * *

It was hours later, true dark had settled when they made their way to the cemetery. Eliot wasn't sure whether taking Dean with him to see Ava had been the right thing to do. Her kind gentleness, soft voice and concern had been almost too much for his friend's resolve. Eliot wished there was another answer, but it wasn't like calling Sam and asking him to do this would make it any better. It would only prolong the suffering, spreading it wider as Dean would then have the guilt of Sam's part in it on top of his own.

He had called Sam though. He hadn't gone into details merely said that he was going to start heading for North Dakota with Dean the following day and that he wasn't sure when they would arrive as they might stagger the journey some. Sam had been relieved at the news and supportive but right now Eliot wasn't sure what state Dean was going to be in by the time they got there.

* * *

They shovelled dirt in silence, heaping it beside the grave. Dean had been careful when they'd started, actually removing the turf. Eliot got the feeling it wasn't something he usually did when faced with the prospect of digging a grave. He'd seen the supplies, gas and salt, stood alongside where they worked. He'd seen the Pastor's ghost, seen the old man's sorrow that this is what they had to do. At a shake of the Pastor's head, he'd not mentioned it to Dean and left his friend to dig in earnest, focussed entirely on his task.

It was exhausting, the speed at which Dean was digging. Eliot couldn't keep up, instead he focussed on his own digging, doing as much as he could, helping in the only way he knew how. It was a relief to finally hit wood. Dean directed him out of the grave, cleared as much of the surface of the coffin as he could before saying quietly, "This . . . I'd . . . you can go back to the car now, if . . .if you want. This bit . . ."

Instead he'd knelt beside the grave, reaching a hand out to Dean's neck pulling him closer. "Dean, we're doing this together and I know . . . okay, I know it's going to be horrible, but that's no reason for you to do it alone."

Dean nodded, let his own hand tentatively pat Eliot's back before he drew back and taking a deep breath, slammed the shovel down into the top of the coffin several times until the wood began to splinter. Eliot felt his stomach twist as the first smells drifted up from the grave before Dean had even managed to get the coffin truly opened. He swallowed trying to control the urge to retch as he watched as Dean worked swiftly to break as much of the coffin lid open as he could before hoisting himself out of the grave with Eliot's help and snatching up the salt and liberally shaking it over the coffin and the body within. As Dean bent down to pick up the gas and began dousing the area quickly, Eliot saw the ghost again, this time with tears seeming to track down its face as it watched the scene playing out before it.

Dean lit a match and dropped it into the coffin, striking a second and throwing it in after, before the first had even had time to settle into the gas. The flames licked up rapidly and Eliot took a step back, pulling Dean with him. A few minutes later and the flames had died down and when they looked in there was nothing but ashes left.

Dean turned, leaning down to pick up the shovel and began to cover over the grave again and Eliot could see the tears on his cheeks, knew they would be matched by his own. He picked up his own shovel and the two of them worked determinedly to rebury the remains. They worked steadily the task far easier than that of removing the earth. With everything returned as far as possible, they relaid the turf removed when they'd started and Dean spoke for the first time, "We don't always do this. You think he'll know I tried? Wherever he is now, do you think he'll know I tried?"

"I do, Dean. I know he knows." Eliot said.


	7. Aftermath

_**Prompt 29 : Sun**_

_**Aftermath**_

Dean held it together long enough to pick up the last of the equipment they'd carried with them into the cemetery and get it back to the car. As he threw the shovels into the trunk, his eyes were already on the remains of the bottle he'd been drinking from earlier. Eliot reached in to get the bottle and took a swift pull of the liqor within, feeling it burn down his throat taking away some of the lingering taste of the smoke and smell of rotten flesh. He held it out to Dean as he slammed the lid down and watched as the younger man swallowed repeatedly.

Eliot patted Dean on the arm and saw as he let the bottle drop away from his lips with a muttered apology. "It's okay, I understand . . . Come on. Get in the car, I'll drive." Eliot gave him a guiding push towards the passenger side of the car. "You're better not driving right now, let's try and get there in one piece."

Eliot shifted the car into drive and they pulled away without looking back again. They'd left Blue Earth behind them and had been on the road for almost an hour before Eliot broke the silence. "He was a good man. I remember when he took us to see Jurassic Park. Do you remember the pirate ice-cream?"

"He had a good sense of humor," Dean agreed. "He always had time for Sam and I. Nothing was ever too much trouble. He came to Sam's graduation and everything, came to fetch us whenever we asked . . . never once said he was too busy or too far away! He'd just drop everything and come."

"He loved it when you two were staying with him. He always looked happier when you were around. I think he always wished he could convince your Dad to stay in Blue Earth, use it as a base."

"Yeah . . . he never did convince Dad of that one . . . Jordan's dad . . . Jordan's dad agreed to it eventually, enroled Jordan in the high school and so he could stay with the Pastor even when his dad was away hunting."

The conversation continued for the next hour or two, gentle reminiscences of the past, of time they'd spent together, shared memories of Blue Earth and the people there who had meant so much. They drove into the rising sun, the sky growing lighter as the new day dawned.

* * *

**Author's Notes : **Thanks for reading and hugs to everyone who left a comment (or more). The feedback has been much appreciated. xx


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